I Can't Make You Love Me
by amandarp13
Summary: One month after the break, a severely depressed Sara is contacted by a cryptic Michael. An ongoing story throughout Season 1's hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Working in a prison was not one of those dreams she'd had as a child- being the Governor's daughter, she wasn't exactly encouraged to work at a maximum security penitentiary. It wasn't what she'd thought it would be when she signed the contract either- she was hoping to help people, to really, truly help those in need of not only medical attention, but also direction, motivation, and hope. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, she could influence the life of just one con and it would make all the difference. She never imagined it'd be the other way around.

But it was in fact the other way around; no matter how loudly her head screamed in disapproval, her heart projected a loud, thunderous agreement, and so it was that she feel in love with inmate 94941. Sara fought it for as long as she could, but in the end she gave in to what seemed too powerful for her to endure. She gave in, even after knowing he had a wife for whatever purpose, after figuring out he wasn't a diabetic, and after he and six others left her in their dust when they hopped over the prison walls, never to be heard from again, like so many others before him.

Until now.

Normally, any mail she received at Fox River was from inmates' insurance companies, pharmaceuticals pitching their newest medications, or just plain junk mail. Once in a while she'd get something from an ex-con that had been released recently, but those were usually left simply and coldly unopened. Sara learned after opening the very first one she received that the majority of the time the contents of these letters were foul and usually sexual, and that was not something she wanted to deal with, especially in her pathetically single state.

This day, however, was different. She trudged past the administrative and secretarial offices toward the mail room, chitchatting with whomever she came across; she appeared to be content, going through the motions of another day as some person or another's savior. As she stepped into the mail room, she felt what seemed like a hundred thousand eyes staring through the back of her head. People around the prison were beginning to notice that her personality was becoming an act, a mask she put on in the morning just to be able to endure the endless day ahead, and so they stared, as people do.

Sara made no mention or movement that would let them see that she knew perfectly well what they were all thinking; instead, she bent to her mailbox and keyed it open, using a considerable amount of force to pry today's copious amount mail from her overflowing box. She pivoted and walked through the faux smiles of the employees in the mail room, stopping only to fill a cup with coffee- black, as always. She liked the bitter taste to remind her she was still alive.

The doctor made her way back to her sanctuary, the infirmary. She crouched to release the door stop, attempting to find some sort of privacy in her glass-encased office. This space reminded her of Michael; everyday when she stepped in, she thought of the riot and how the grasp of his strong hand pulling her into the ceiling made all the difference in the world... how he'd rolled up his shirt for her to feel his heartbeat and they'd locked eyes for what seemed like- for what she wished was- an eternity. She glanced around the room and sighed, plopping into her desk chair and taking a big gulp of Life in its most bitter form. Tasteless and cruel, like her life without him.

Somewhat refreshed, she set out to open the massive stack of mail set out before her. She started at the top and found a new issue of a medical journal and some bureaucratic information, and then something totally unexpected- a letter. A real, true letter, from a living, breathing person who wasn't trying to get her to buy something or vote for someone. It was probably from an ex-inmate, but she decided that taking her chances would be far better than continuing to feel as disassociated from the world for another second.

Before Sara tore the envelope open, she noticed there was no return address. This was especially odd if it did turn out to be an inmate letter, as they always expected her to write them back. She proceeded, semi-cautiously, to pull out the lined paper. She opened it and instantly recognized the handwriting set out in a brilliant royal blue atop the stark, lonely white. They'd spent extra time during his appointments doing the Times crossword puzzle once or twice, and the words appeared now in the same quick capital letters.

Her breath caught in her throat when she understood who this particular ex-inmate letter was from- Michael. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to open an unending waterfall of more bitterness. She read,

_Sara-_

_I'm sorry for what's happened. I didn't count on you as a variable when this was planned; when I laid my eyes on you I knew things may not be as calculated in my heart as they were in my head. _

_Give me the chance to explain myself. Tonight, with the sky as my witness. Meet me at 11 o'clock. You know the place._

_M_

He'd been careful- no return address, no details other than the time, and no name. He had also instilled enough trust in her that he wasn't afraid she'd come to this place with the police or worse in tow.

Sara rose from her chair heatedly, and crumpled the paper in her hands. Determinedly, she held back her sobs as she strode out of her office and down the hallway, through security, and into the parking garage to her Mercedes. Quickly, angrily, she threw the door open and reached for her glove box, pulling out an old Zippo from the shadows of the compartment.

She stomped a few feet away from the car, bringing the lighter to a flame, and holding it directly underneath the letter from Him. Sara threw it to the ground and watched it burn, her tears flowing down her cheeks and dampening the collar of her lab coat. She turned back to the car, jumping in the driver's seat and slamming the door behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

1Chapter 2

Dr. Sara Tancredi lay motionless in the front seat of her Mercedes, alone in her own abyssmal being. She lay her head on the steering wheel, letting her long hair drape over the sides of her shoulders and tear soaked face. There she sat, dazed, alone, and sobbing out the sorrows she'd held for the last month, since he'd left this place for his brother and God knows what else. Her emptiness poured out through her eyes, and she felt everything she'd been numb to times a thousand. And now, here he was... where was he now, what was he doing? Had he come back to apologize and beg for forgiveness or to laugh in her face? She could make an educated guess, except her guess wouldn't matter more than anyone else's; each time she thought she knew him some other facet of him popped up and surprised her.

The longer she lay there, the more timeless the world around her seemed. She had no idea how long she'd been sitting hunched over, reeling in the mere mention of the name Michael in her mind. Maybe minutes, maybe hours, days, years passed and still she sat there. No movement, no thoughts, no feelings other than loneliness and need.

Gradually, Sara pulled herself together until she was no longer red-eyed and looked somewhat presentable. She made her way back to the infirmary, glancing toward the first clock she saw, and noted that she'd only been gone fifteen minutes. This did not surprise her; over the past month time had slowed for her, making her believe at times that it was not passing at all. She walked passed guards and through security, down the medical corridor. Deep black pupils stared into her soul from every angle, prying, wanting information that not even she knew.

---

The clocked shone 10:35 PM in bold green text on her bedside table.

Sara found herself alone in her apartment, debating with her conscience over the meeting. She'd gotten dressed and done her hair and makeup three times already, unable to decide on her presentation. She stood half naked in front of her floor-length mirror, staring at her reflection; she'd decided on wearing her hair down because Michael always seemed to be mesmerized by it, and she wanted to give him as much grief as possible for giving her away to the cruel, heartless world she faced without him. She chose a simple black v-neck long-sleeved tshirt and a flowing green knee length skirt- casual enough, she figured, but not thrown together.

As Sara gazed into the mirror, she found herself lost in a world of Him. She remembered one of her favorite conversations with him, while they were doing the Times crossword one rainy Sunday.

"_Hey Doc, what's a 9-letter word for a photosynthetical sanctuary?"_

"_Michael, pay attention to the insulin wound, I told you to apply direct pressure! You and that damn puzzle."_

"_But Sara, I like crosswords, they give me a chance to concentrate so my brain doesn't rot away. You and the Times crossword are the only intelligent conversation for miles."_

_Chills ran down her spine as he said her name. She laughed, and he smiled his amazing smile that threatened to take her breath away every time._

"_Treehouse," she said._

"_What?" Michael smirked, confused._

"_A photosynthetical sanctuary. A treehouse, you know, like the one in Greco Park."_

_His blue green eyes darted up quickly to meet hers, and they stared into each other. He tore his eyes away nervously, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "I love Greco Park."_

A police car drove by, siren wailing, breaking her concentration. She glanced to her left, to the menacing neon green numbers at her bedside- 10:55. She debated more, psyching herself up for an event she knew would have to either change her attitude or change her life. A surge of strength, confidence, and anger rushed through her body as she mentally prepared herself for what was to come. Within seconds, she found herself again in the front seat of her Mercedes, keys in the ignition, foot on the gas, speeding toward what she was sure would turn out to be a colossal mistake.

After all, she didn't want to keep him waiting.

A short time later, Sara pulled onto Fleur Boulevard. If she remembered correctly, the street she was looking for would be coming soon. The nerves in her stomach were threatening to expel themselves if she didn't calm them soon; her knuckles were white as she grasped the cold leather steering wheel as if it were the last thing to hold onto on Earth. _This is your decision, Sara_, she reminded herself. _You can turn your back at any time_.

She didn't turn her back though, she kept driving until she reached the sign for Greco Avenue. Sara knew this would be the last street sign she saw as the woman she was at this moment; in the distance she could see the ten foot tall sign noting the main entrance to Greco Park. Without even so much as a fleeting thought, she clicked her signal on to turn right, and drove directly into a night that, one way or another, she knew she would never forget.


	3. Chapter 3

1Hey guys, thanks again for reading! When you review, please let me know if you think it would be a good idea/would like it if I made this story into a very long one, working on it through the hiatus, it would really help me out a lot. Also, this chapter was heavily influenced by a song called 'I Can't Make You Love Me' by Bonnie Raitt. It would be a really cool experience if you would download the song from me (it's uploaded to http/s37. and press play when the story says so. It's a pretty long song, but it would be best to keep it playing until you've finished reading through the end, so you might want to put it on repeat. Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter 3

Sara parked her car within sight of the treehouse she'd grown to love over the years. It was massive and sturdy, and sat amongst the branches of one of the big and old oak trees that were scattered throughout the park. She recalled loving the robin's egg blue trim of the windows the very first time she saw it at age nine; she wished she had one just like it for her very own in her backyard. Her father obliged, of course, and one was built for her... it, however, lacked the majestic beauty that this refuge epitomized.

But Sara wasn't there for the treehouse.

She glanced around the parking lot, feeling completely exposed to her surroundings. The beeping as she set her car alarm seemed much louder than it was, and she jumped. She breathed deeply to calm herself, and decided it was best to continue doing so to calm her nerves as she made her way toward the tree. Eyes darting, searching for his familiar face, she walked slowly and softly, almost tiptoeing, so as not to disturb the perfect scene of nature laid out before her.

PLAY SONG NOW!

In front of her, the sole streetlight in sight flickered; she watched it, willing it to become bright again, but instead the light died out and she was left with the stars. There was no moon in sight that night, and Sara noticed the stars more than she had before; briefly, she allowed them to calm her, to comfort her and to give her the strength to move along. She made her way down the final stretch of the walkway leading up to the tree, and found herself at the bottom of the ladder attached to the trunk.

Craning her neck upward, Sara tried to see through the walls of the treehouse, wanting to know if he was there waiting for her. She placed her right foot on the first rung of the ladder, and prepared herself for the physical and mental climb she was about to embark on. Her head hung down, her eyes closed, and she entered a world where she was alone to concentrate on her journey. Her chest heaved deeply, willing her nerves to subside, letting her melancholy state take over.

Her body felt heavy, and she couldn't lift her other leg to climb the ladder. Instead, a flood of tears gushed from her eyes, and she sank to her knees, holding herself. She felt that if she let her grip on her sides go, she would float off into oblivion if her sorrow and tears hadn't weighed her down.

Just as Sara felt she would melt into the Earth and no one would notice, strong arms encircled her body, comforting her, warming her, encouraging her to sink into them and never look back. When she realized these were not her own arms, she jerked away, feeling threatened. She stood and spun to face her attacker, and found herself staring straight into the deep blue-green pools in the eyes of Michael. She had to look up to meet his eyes, forgetting how tall he was. He towered over Sara, with a look of concern on his face, reaching out to touch her arm. His touch was hot, and at that moment, unwanted. Afraid, she hurriedly backed up three steps, crashing straight into the humongous girth of the oak's trunk.

"Sara..." he said. Her name, from his lips, was emotional poison. "Please. Please, Sara, don't be afraid of me."

Her whole body trembled as she attempted to speak. She stared at him, shaking, his eyes prying into her soul, wanting to be let in again. Slowly, Sara's breath came back to her and she became angry. She took an assertive step toward him.

"What are you doing here, Michael? Why did you come back? I was finally starting to be able to deal with what happened." She stood two feet from him now, questioning him with her stare. "Answer my question, Michael- Why?"

His signature gaze was now caring, not the one she usually saw from him when he was dodging a question she asked. "I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what, Michael? You were, or should I say are, a prisoner, and I am a doctor in that prison, that is it." He was quiet. "Right? Right, Michael? THAT'S IT!" She reached out and pushed her hands against his defined chest, catching him off guard. Michael stumbled back a few feet, and he did not fight back. Her hands dropped to her sides in defeat. She felt one lonely teardrop slide down her cheek, and drew her eyes toward the ground, not wanting to let him know she was effected by his stare.

"Sara... you know that's not it, and that's why you're crying and staring at the ground." Michael pivoted so his left side was to her, and lifted his head upward toward the sky, white thermal shirt glowing in the starlight. At that moment, Sara was terrified of him and how he made her feel. The way the light of the stars hit his face made him look angelic. He was beautiful. "I came back here for you. I want you to come with me. To Cancun."

"Cancun?" He looked over at her, his jawline clearly defined and reminiscent of a Greek god. Sara's eyes met his and she wanted to give in to her heart and believe him. She was nervous, and held his gaze only for a moment before looking up at the stars, giving him the chance to marvel in her beauty. "So you're basically on spring break?" He smirked, as did she. This was them, not the lunatics they'd been in the preceding minutes.

"Something like that, only I can't be happy... because you're not there," Michael admitted.

"How can you come back here, after all your lies and deceit, and say these things? I know you used me, Michael. I know you did." Again, she looked down.

"I had to follow the plan, but I didn't count on you being the doctor."

Sara sighed loudly. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel right now, Michael. I really don't."

It was his turn to look toward the ground, and he did so willingly, turning back to her and shortening the distance between them. He lifted his long arms, placing one on each of hers, again showing his height. "Sara, I'm here because I would rather fight with you and feel like hell for what I've done than even think about making love to anyone else." He looked at her, begging. "Please come."

They stared at each other for what seemed like a lifetime, each silently questioning the other about everything, but mostly the meaning of the inclusion of their relationship in each other's lives. Michael took a step in, making the distance between them dwindle to mere centimeters. He placed his large hands on either side of her delicate yet steadfast face, and tilted his face. Sara closed her eyes in preparation, but his lips lingered above hers, tickling her with his breath.

And then, their mouths melted into each other, their feelings transferred from one to the other through hot breath. Her hands fluttered up to his face, trying to remember it with her hands. His moved to her waist, circling around her and drawing her in close to him. Michael pushed her back against the tree and deepened their kiss; he wanted this to be what she would always remember him for, not his lies or fake diabetes.

Then, as quickly as their embrace had begun, it was over. Sara's hands moved to his chest and pushed forcefully, making him stumble backward again. "How could you?" she muttered, and turned to leave.

As she walked away, Michael ran after her. Thanks to his long legs, he caught up to her quickly, grabbing her arm and stopping her in her tracks. "Sara..."

"Let go of me, Michael. Just let go," she whispered, looking away. "Please."

He used his hand to gently bring her face around to look at him. "I know I can't make you love me, but I can try."

With that, he let go, and was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

1CHAPTER 4

Six days had passed since Sara's altercation with Michael in the park. Six slow, lonely, confusing, angry days, with no resolution in sight. She'd called in sick to Fox River for five of those days; the day after their meeting, though, she was determined to move on with her life and make no mention of the name Michael Scofield ever again.

That idea, however, had fallen through by the time her lunch break rolled around; she feigned ill and left the infirmary a few hours early. She promptly returned to her living room couch with a few pints of Ben and Jerry's and some Brad Pitt movies- she thought that if any men could make her forget about Michael, their names would be Ben, Jerry, and Brad. Except that idea didn't work as well as she thought it would either, and she ended up reducing herself to a few Jackie Collins novels, and the romance only made her heart ache that much more.

Sara had made it a point to ignore all phone calls, and no one except Chinese food deliverymen had come knocking at her door.

Until, on the sixth day, she had just stepped out of the shower when she heard a light rapping on her apartment door. "Who is it?" she yelled.

No answer.

"Hello?"

No answer.

Giving up, she called "Just a minute!" Sara haphazardly dressed herself, leaving her hair unbrushed, and jogged toward the door, anxious for some more fortune cookies. As she made her way to the door, she realized she hadn't ordered any food.

When she reached through the door, she stood on her tiptoes to see through the peephole. Nothing. This turned on her mental caution lights, and this made her decide to leave her chain lock attached so the door wouldn't be fully open but would be readily slammable should the need arise. Slowly, the door creaked open and she peeked into the hallway. No one. The door was shut again, and she turned to leave but heard another light knock. Spinning around, she swiftly grabbed the doorknob, opening the door. "Listen, I am not in the mood for any childish games, so..." She looked up.

Lincoln Burrows stood at her door.

"Lincoln," she said, surprised. "Uh... what- what are you doing here? Someone will see you." Unafraid, she opened her door wide to allow an alleged murderer into her home.

"Doc- Sara- I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, but we have to talk."

Sara stared up at him, forgetting just how large of a man he was. "Why would you risk your life to come here, Lincoln? Have you lost your mind?"

"No, but I feel like I've lost my brother."

She turned to walk away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"He's not the same, Sara," Lincoln said firmly. "He hasn't slept for days."

"Then why isn't he here right now instead of you?" She knew she was prying, but didn't care.

"He's afraid of you, his heart is broken. His pride is hurt. It's complicated..."

She looked away from him, and said, hurt, "Too complicated to deal with." Sara pivoted and walked into her living room to stare out the window. She heard him follow.

"You've got to see him. Please, Sara."

She turned to look him in the eyes. "Lincoln, I know if anyone would understand this, it'd be you. You know what sudden loss is, better than anyone else I can think of." Pausing, her eyes met his and then looked down and back up again nervously, not knowing how he would take her mention of his death sentence. "In life, we make plans for things, and we expect things day-to-day. We rely on certain happenings to continuously give us some sort of event... or person, in my case, to look forward to. And if that one thing disappears from life without warning, we become confused; so confused, in fact, that it's hard to carry on each day without that milestone in what would otherwise be a bleak and boring routine." His gaze didn't flinch. "Michael was that one thing for me, Lincoln. Every day, I would check my schedule to see when his appointment was, and I would literally count down the hours and the appointments until my 15 minutes with him. Fifteen minutes each day isn't a lot of time, especially when it's for less than four weeks, but it was enough for me. I had ridiculous visions for the future."

"Sara, I... this is all my fault, he did this because of me. I feel like I'm the one that should be-"

"Lincoln... he gave me something to look forward to. Michael was a reason to start liking life again. I haven't done that in a really long time." Her eyes started to tear up, and she turned her back to Lincoln so he wouldn't see how weak she'd become. "To me, it didn't matter that Michael was a prisoner and I was his doctor- I was ready to wait. I knew whatever we wanted to happen wouldn't happen right then, that I would i _have_ /i to wait, and it took me a long time to be okay with that, but I did reach that point, Lincoln. I did. It was imagining and planning for the possibilities in my head that kept my feelings for Michael growing, not the guarantee I would get something from it. Call me a lunatic, but I truly believed it was possible." Sara paused to catch her breath, and heard Lincoln seat himself on the arm of her love seat. She turned, and was mildly surprised to see this massive man with his head dropped into his hands. Knowing he felt guilty for Michael even being in the situation he was in, she placed a caring hand on Lincoln's shoulder.

She spoke slowly and methodically, wanting him to understand. "When everything came crashing down so suddenly, I had no time to adjust to the idea that he'd no longer be around. It just... it just happened. I've resented him for it, for destroying any chance we could ever have together... but in reality, I think I may have been jealous he got out and, even though I'm not a prisoner, I'm stuck at Fox River." Removing her hand from Lincoln's broad shoulder, she took a step back from him, and stared at the floor for a minute. Lincoln raised his face from his hands, but did not look her in the eye.

"Michael is my brother, Sara, but I know he's not perfect." Finally, their eyes met. "I messed up royally with Veronica... I had to come here to let you know this so maybe I could save any chance of you two being together. I wanted to save Michael from messing up with you any more than he has. If I'm sure of anything in this world, it's that he cannot live without you," Lincoln conceded in the most sincere, heartfelt confession Sara had ever heard. She was taken aback when the air rushed from her lungs and her breath was taken from her. "See him, Sara. I'm begging you." With that, Lincoln stood, his massive frame blocking all else from her view. Without thought, she leaned in, willing this virtual stranger to wrap his arms around her. He did, holding her like she was already his sister, stroking her hair. Lincoln pushed her back gently. "Everything's going to be ok, Sara. It will." She nodded, and he turned slowly and strode determinedly out of her apartment.

She wondered where he went, and if Michael would be there too.


	5. Chapter 5

1Her soft-soled sneakers made little noise as her feet padded along the pavement at least one hundred feet behind Lincoln Burrows, convicted murderer and big brother to the man she was almost sure she loved. He traveled through obscure pathways between buildings, twisting and winding, like he was expecting someone to follow him, hoping to confuse their directions and lose them along the way.

Michael's mere presence in Chicago made it hard for Sara to focus on anything, and she had contemplated going to find him many times in the past six days. No matter how much she'd wanted to, she couldn't. She didn't even know where he was or if he was even still in the city. When Lincoln showed up at her doorstep, practically begging on his brother's behalf, she was relieved. And terrified.

After twenty minutes of creepy, dark alleyways that lead toward the "Other Side" of Chicago, they arrived at a run-down apartment complex that she was sure housed many other ex-cons who were more menacing than either Lincoln or Michael, or both of them put together, could ever even imagine being. Drug dealers, pimps, and prostitutes lined the inside of the apartments making their living through sin; though she couldn't see them, the stench of the Crystal Meth being cooked inside gave their identities away. A lump formed in her throat. This was no place for Michael, not here. He belonged in his life, in her neighborhood, with a six figure salary and potential.

Sara watched from around the corner as Lincoln arrived at apartment 3B and slipped inside, unnoticed by the criminals around him. She slowly brought herself around the corner, not wanting to draw attention toward her. Tiptoeing, she made her way toward the apartment Lincoln disappeared into. When she reached the window, she found it completely covered in black garbage bag and impossible to see into. Sara maneuvered her way around the window, trying to find an angle at which she could see through one of the cracks at the sides of the window. This proved to be rather hopeless.

As she was about to knock on the door, a deep voice coming from a few feet behind her startled her.

"Hey Doc."

Sara turned, and found a large, mean looking man with a beer belly standing in front of her. She recognized him as an old inmate who came to her only a few times, and remembered his alarmingly low level of intellect, but his name didn't come to her. "Hi…" she avoided his eyes.

"You don't remember my name, do ya Doc?" His pupils pried into the top of her skull as he looked down at her and she glanced briefly at the ground.

"Uh… no, I'm sorry. You were an inmate at Fox River, right?" Finally, she made eye contact and remembered his lazy eye. She shivered. What was his name?

"Yep I sure was Ma'am, got out on parole 'bout, oh, two, three months ago?" He looked proud, and smiled. "What are you doin' down here in these parts?"

"Oh, I… just uh, looking for a friend." Sara forced a smile in his direction.

"Ah." They paused, awkwardly. "Didn't think you'da gone back to Fox River after the riot." He stared at her intently. She recognized something in his eyes that suddenly made her frightened for her life.

"You… were in the infirmary. During the riot." Sara stepped back quickly and put a hand out in front of her to create a barrier between her own body and his. "Ratzi."

"Yeah, Doc, you got it now, don'tcha. Ratzi. You looked so pretty that day all scared and tremblin'. I coulda fucked you all night. I can tell in your eyes you're onea them sinful girls who likes it rough." He reached out and grabbed her arm roughly, and she backed up quickly again, trying not to cry or scream. Maybe she could talk her way out of this situation if she didn't show any fear. The fear, however, glowed like a fire in her eyes. Ratzi saw it. "Aww, now you're not afraid of me now are ya Doc? I'm not gonna hurtcha." He stepped toward her, giggling menacingly.

"You don't have to do anything, you can let me go and you won't be in trouble at all. I won't tell, I promise. Just let go of me, and we can forget anything happened." She pleaded with him, willing him to agree.

He didn't though, and violently shoved her against the side of the building. The air whooshed out of Sara's lungs, and she couldn't breathe to scream. Ratzi grabbed her shirt and ripped it open, roughly fondling her breasts. Her legs were pinned underneath his, her arms were being held behind her. She was trapped.

He slammed her against the building again, taking her breath away one more time. Screaming was impossible for her, as she had no air to speak of. Ratzi came in close to her ear, and whispered "Now you're going to get what's comin' to you, Doc," before smashing her back and head into the wall one last time.

Then, everything was dark.

Sara wasn't out for more than thirty seconds, but when she came to she realized the situation had become dire. Crumpled jeans had rested around her ankles after they'd been pulled down, her shirt's buttons scattered about. She sat with her legs stretched out in front of her, her back propped up on the bricks of the hard wall. Ratzi stood over her, rubbing himself through his jeans, almost like he was waiting for her to wake up so he could enjoy her pain.

"You ain't so pretty now, are ya Doc?"

She craned her neck up. "Fuck you," she growled and, in a sudden burst of energy, tried to lift her right leg to kick him in the groin. Even though he was an extremely large man, he was quick, and Ratzi swooped down and caught her leg before she could make contact. He bent, and slapped her across the face as hard as he could. He picked up her left leg and pulled it into the air, pushing her legs as far apart as they would go. Sara shuddered and moaned in pain. "Stop!" she cried as loud as she could. "Help!"

"Aw, sweetie, ain't nobody gonna come runnin' for ya in these parts. You're all alone," he smirked and looked down between her legs. "Now that's what I like to see. Mmm, mmm, mmm."

Beside her, the door to apartment 3B burst open.

Michael stood before her. "Sara," he cried, sounding as though it was him on the ground. His face showed shock first, quickly changing to an indescribable rage. Ratzi looked at him. "Whaddya think you're doin', pretty boy? You ain't no match for me. I'm gonna take this bitch here and fuck her all I want. Just go back in your house and mind your business."

Without a word, Michael lunged at him forcefully with all the weight and strength he had, knocking both of them to the ground, Michael landing on top of the much larger man. Sara's legs flopped to the ground, and she sat there on the cold cement in horror, shock, and disgust. Michael turned to her, his hands around Ratzi's neck. "Sara, get in the house!" She remained still, unable to move. Michael turned back to the much larger man that sat beneath him, drew back, and punched Ratzi in the face as hard as he could. Immediately, his nose bled.

"Get offa me, you stupid son of a bitch!" Michael punched him again, this time in his eye.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He punched over and over, releasing emotionally charged grunts, hitting Ratzi's face, head, and chest with power he didn't even know existed before that moment. Michael didn't know what came over him, but he couldn't stop throwing his fists in front of him. "She's never done anything to you! FUCK!" Angry tears rolled down Michael's face as his arms began to grow tired. Ratzi lay motionless on the pavement, barely breathing and bleeding in several places.

"Michael, stop." He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

Sara.

"Oh, God, Sara. What has he done?" Michael turned, rising to meet her eyes. She looked up at him, her face red from the stinging slap Ratzi had given her. He put his arms around her. She shivered.

"Michael, I'm ok, I'm ok. I'm ok, Michael." More tears stung his eyes and rolled into her hair. Sara pulled back away from his chest, and took a step back. She looked down. "Can we go inside?"

He sighed painfully, trying to imagine what was running through her head. Sara looked up at him. He wanted so bad to make everything alright for her, but he couldn't get ahold of his emotions. Michael looked back at Ratzi on the ground, wanting to kick him while he was down. Instead, he walked toward her, extending his arm around her shoulders, and lead her inside.

It was Michael's fault she was there.

And he knew it.


	6. Chapter 6

1As Sara and Michael entered the run down apartment, she wondered why she had let the situation come to this. Her, frightened, spirit broken and half naked, and him, with the guilt of a hundred manslaughter convicts resting on his shoulders. Sara shivered as they stepped through the door, freezing despite the June weather. She'd wrapped her tattered shirt around herself because, without the buttons scattered around the front step, her breasts were fully exposed save for a thin cotton bra. Michael noticed she was uncomfortable and took action.

"I'll get you something to put on –" he turned his body to head up the stairs on his left.

Sara interrupted him, grabbing his arm. "No- I mean, thank you, I... don't leave me alone, please, Michael." Pleading, she glanced over her shoulder toward the door. "What if he- you know." Her eyes turned down to look at the floor. She couldn't believe herself. This woman- insecure, afraid, depending on someone else- was not her. At least, not a month ago. Or, maybe, not ten minutes ago.

Her shoulders shuddered in a sob, tears stinging her eyes. "Sara..." he said, putting his hands on her shoulders firmly. "He won't hurt you again, I promise. I'll protect you." Michael took her hand and led her into the small, dimly lit living room. They sat softly on an old sectional sofa that came with the apartment. Normally, Sara would have been disgusted with the probably things that'd been done on it, especially in a place like this. Right then, she didn't care.

Their legs rested against each other; she sat facing forward and he was sideways, facing her, attempting to read her face for some sign of emotion.

The only emotion he saw was fear.

Michael took her hand in his. "Sara... are you alright?" She was shaking, and that made him angry.

Her eyes lifted and met his, blinking as if she was returning from some far-off place. This wasn't like the Sara he knew.

And loved.

"I'm fine, I think." She paused. "Thank you Michael, you saved me from... I don't even want to know what." Her head fell into her hands, and Michael brought his palm to her back and rubbed it soothingly. Slowly, Sara regained her composure and control, and began her coping process.

What Sara didn't know was that Michael's jaw was clenched firmly, strongly, holding in more anger than he'd ever felt before. His eyes were dark with wrath and guilt. She brought her head up again, sensing those feelings, and furrowed her brow."Michael," she spoke in her doctor voice, suddenly feeling like a savior rather than a victim. "Look at me."

His eyes moved to hers, and she felt a sudden rush of intensity that seemed to be given off like heat from a fire in his eyes. Sara, taken aback by this strength, studdered. "You, uh... you... this isn't your fault. I came here on my own accord, I followed Linco-" Lincoln. Where had he disappeared to? "Where is Lincoln? Why did you come out there by yourself? You could have gotten yourself killed."

"You were in trouble, Sara. I wasn't even thinking about that." They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. "He's in the shower... I don't think he heard you scream."

As if on cue, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the rickety stairs. Lincoln started filling Michael in on the day's happenings as he came down the hallway, his towel still wrapped around his waist.

"Mike, I don't know. You really fucked up, you know? You have to go talk to-" He stepped into the room, looking up. "Sara." Lincoln's face took on a look of confusion and shock. "What are you doing here? How'd you find us?" He stepped closer, taking a better look at her frazzled state. "What happened?"

"I followed you, Lincoln. And I was outside and then..." Sara's voice trailed off, not quite ready to relive the experience. Michael saw her reluctance, and stood, taking the few steps over to Lincoln.

"Can I talk to you in the kitchen?"

"Michael, it-"

"Lincoln." He paused and stared into the eyes of his brother- the infamous Michael Scofield pause-and-stare that could reduce nuns to prostitution if that's what he wanted. "Kitchen."

Easily persuaded, Lincoln turned and moved back down the hallway. Michael turned and gave Sara what he hoped was a comforting look. "I'll be right back... make yourself at... well, this isn't like anyone's home." She nodded. Slowly, he looked toward the floor and glanced back up. Their eyes met and Sara didn't ever want to look away. Even his gaze made her feel safe.

Michael turned quickly and headed up the narrow hall behind Lincoln.

Sara rose and began to inspect the room. Only a small thirteen inch television on a crate and a small coffee table garnished the room aside from the sofa. There was a stack of paper and documents on the coffee table. Not thinking, Sara bent and looked.

What she found was the last thing she expected.

On the table before her lay several detailed drawings of the tattoo that covered much of Michael's body. She heard the two men speaking in hushed tones a few rooms away, and decided it was safe to proceed; she didn't want to be nosy. Sara looked closer, and saw that there were arrows pointing to specific spots, numbers, chemical equations, hallways? Something didn't make sense. It was just a tattoo, not a map. As she inspected the drawings though, it began to look more and more like a guide to something. She'd always wanted to run her hands over Michael's chest, back, and arms, tracing the lines, wondering how that would make him feel. Truthfully, she didn't know how it would make her feel.

And now, what was this? She ruffled through the papers, finding more drawings of other things, a credit card, a chemical formula for corrosion, personal details on other inmates they'd escaped with. Sara's head spun. The tattoos were a map, obviously. But for what? Mind racing, she took mental pictures of this information in case she needed it later.

She was interrupted by the sound of Michael's voice.

"Sara. Don't overreact to this. I can explain."

"Sure you can, Michael," she said coldly. "You always have an explanation, but I don't want an explanation. I want the truth."

He looked at her. "You might want to sit down."


End file.
